The Toilet Bowl
by Grape Icies
Summary: Called the toilet bowl because of the crap that will possibly be deposited in here that neither fits as drabble nor cohesive story. :) Ignore if you'd like. Multi-genred.
1. Underneath the Sheets (Chuya)

A/N: So I wanna take you guys on a new ride... Drabbles! And... Umm... Hehe... :3 Sensuality.

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**Underneath the Sheets**

It's underneath the sheets where she experiences the most loneliness. Crimson red hair, usually so slicked back and radiating the confidence of her soul, now disshevled, lanky and flat, covering her face in strands, spilled onto *his* golden mattress in a mess of a pattern. She bit her bright red lips, a single fang showing out the side of her mouth as her emerald-green eyes clenched shut in agony.

She bore her all for him, well-aged and strong curves peeking out of the robe she wore for him. He wasn't even there for her. A clawed hand gripped her chest as she groaned out in the torture of it all, ignoring the furry onlookers she knew were enjoying her pain. She paused from her pain to smile ironically. Of course they'd enjoy it. She was the one that directed their master's attention away from them.

Sparing an almost malicious grin for the large cats, she tossed all of her hair to her other shoulder, the long, caramel curve of her neck proudly displaying *his* teeth-marks and *his* lovebites. A sadistic smile appeared on those lips as she heard a collective growl resonate through the room. They deserved their contempt. She would always be in *his* favor, the queen of his bed and the mistress of his nighttime conquests. She was the one that brought out the best and the worst of his sensuality and for that, she was proud. Without the original power of her own, this seduction was something she prided herself in. Laughing, she ran a hand down from her bruised and plump lips to her neck, down the curve of her breast, along the curvature of her waist and stopping at her core. He needed to hurry, she groaned, body filling with mind-numbing need. The loneliness was crushing and she was sick of her audience, only desiring the company of one.

The scent of blood filled her nostrils and a smile spread. Hearing the clinks of armor falling and the running of warm water, hope filled her. Satisfaction prevailed as she felt the bed shift with new-found weight, heart pounding in anticipation.

"I hope you did not miss me," the gruff words smiled past her ears. Milky-white arms snaked around her caramel waist, strong, steady, ancient, and dangerous, pulling her into his naked chest. She leaned into him and felt his warmth, a hazy smirk and half-lidded eyes meeting his own lust drunk stare. She curled into him, his arms feeling almost like... Home. Between sheets are where she is the most lonely, but with him, it is also where she feels the most alive.

Finally. She responds.

"You know I never do."


	2. No One Laughs at God (Xiaolin Dragons)

A/N: Kind of a strange one, especially because of my kind of non-religious views. Came up with the urge for this one while listening to Laughing With by Regina Spektor after my power FINALLY came back on after Sandy hit...

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**No One Laughs at God**

Everyone laughs at Him when they see it fit. They laugh when their lives go well and they believe they don't need Him - why would they? They're making their own fortunes with their own luck. Who needs Him?

No one's laughing at God while they watch the temple's shingles rip. No one laughs at Him while the screams and yells begin as the winds tear their home to shreds. The monks and dragons are hardly laughing as everything goes to hell, nearby rivers flooding and lightning crashing as the valley that was their home was destroyed. The prayers begin as they huddle in the vault, their leader and big, blonde cowboy shielding everyone with their bodies for comfort.

The Dragon of the Wind mutters Portuguese prayers into the Dragon of the Fire's ear. She can't understand him, but she finds comfort in his voice and the foreign rhythm that his words seem to form. And while she's not laughing at Him, she begins to laugh with Him as she realizes the blessing that's rising from the storm in her love's comfort.


	3. Driving Deeper (RaiKim)

A/N: I don't even... Know... Anymore... Just... Deal for now...? Drabble = actual 100 words this time.

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**Driving Deeper**

A lone, dull light shone on her, milky white skin a ghastly and ominous appearance in the general darkness. Her dark, inky black hair hung limp and loose, blending with the dark and marring her with cracks, but what really killed him was when she looked up and saw nothing except despair in those baby-blues he treasured most. He reached out and she flinched away, driving the metaphorical knife deeper.

"Why am I the one that has to keep suffering...?" is all she said, but the weight of their impact was left like a mark on him.


	4. Tea Time for Old Souls (Immortals)

**A/N: **These shits are becoming like cell-phone shots. Lmao.

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**Tea Time for Old Souls**

Good and evil. Evil and good. That was the daily fight. But there did exist a day of neutrality, where such alignments were rendered obsolete and the ancients of China gathered for a tradition possibly more significant than the on-going battle: Tea.

From Hannibal Bean to Master Monk Guan to Wuya to the Bird of Paradise to Chase to Dojo in attendance, it was a day to relax and enjoy the simplicity oft overlooked in a lifespan so stretched. A day to escape the chaotic and rapidly changing world and reminisce. They all dressed in their best and met on the highest point of China where Dojo played host and Chase brought the cookies. As the tea was served and food was distributed, they all sat around the grand, round table, paid their respects to the directions and the elements, and finally relaxed. Collectively inhaling, the immortals took in the anodyne scents and glanced at each other.

"What a century this has been," Chase commented. "Our table has grown, Dojo. Guan. Paradise."

In her old lady form, the bird chuckled. "We welcome our additions."

Wuya and Hannibal bowed their heads. "It is an honor."


	5. I'm Awake as You Breathe (Chuya)

**A/N:** Ah... I saw this one as a tumblr 30 day prompt, but I'm kind of saving those prompts for a pairing that isn't so easy? But I really needed to do at least one for le Chuya. :D It is far too easy to write a lot for them. (Cell phone shots, man.)

Also, I kind of wrote it for Miss Gray. :D because I like her stories and she is a fellow Chuya shipper and that makes me happy. :3

Double also, Wuya is hot.

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**I'm Awake as You Breathe**

With every breath he took, he drove her to an edge. It wasn't like the sorceress needed much to get her to an edge, but his breath... It did things to her that she knew weren't healthy for her mind. Scowling in distaste and offering an unpleasant sneer, Wuya briefly contemplated putting an end to Chase Young's miserable existence. If she really and honestly tried, she could do it. Both of them knew so.

Which is why the fact that the dumb, over-grown lizard-face could sleep so soundly in a bed with such a dangerous woman like herself made her angry. He was normally rightfully confident, teetering on the point of arrogance. Rarely stupidly so, but he seemed so dead set on trusting her with his life... Yet not her own powers. She tested a run of one of her talon-like nails along his jawline, drawing a hairline cut with an equally thin line of crimson-red blood, noting a minor change in how his eyeballs fluttered beneath their lids, but nothing more. She gritted her teeth at this. There was little else in the world that made her so genuinely angry than to be underestimated and undermined. She was one of the most feared and powerful Heylin witches China has ever seen for Heaven's sake!

From the corner of her eye, she caught one of his tigeresses getting nervous at the smell of her master's blood. Wuya smirked and licked the dot of blood off her nail, staring the over-grown cat down, daring her to wake up Chase. The tigeress gave a soft, but defeated growl, lowering its head. She knew her master's favorite and knew that Wuya knew who it was too. Smirking, the witch threw her head back and sucked all the traces of blood off of her finger, gloating silently. She gave Chase a side-long glance. He still hadn't roused.

Wuya frowned again. Honestly, the monks and... Just about the rest of the world gave him too much credit. They weren't around to see the supposed Prince of Darkness with his guard so lowered. They didn't know just how much power she had over him. Their public dynamic was... Honestly insulting, considering the real thing. Magic made her life all the easier and all the more of a threat, but she didn't necessarily need it. Brushing strands of hair from his neck, she smiled a little to herself as she watched the little hairs stand on end from her touch. Feeling a little spark of something, Wuya lowered her head and lightly traced her tongue along the cut she'd made, the skin patching on contact and pulling away once the cut was all gone. She ran her fingers lightly along his skin, careful to not draw anymore blood. She took care of her toys enough to keep them unscarred.

_Chase doesn't belong on the Heylin side_, she thought to herself. He was here out of an honor-bound obligation, she knew. He fell from grace and she knew him well enough to know that he hadn't looked back to save his pride and to hide his shame from the very people he'd betrayed. She'd admit that he was a hell of an actor, but she saw things everyone else didn't. His warrior cats were at his side for more than a petty chance at revenge; they cared for him as he cared for them. He was capable of loving and being loved. He knew how to treasure what was important to him. Wuya set her mouth in a melancholic line. She wanted to destroy that. For once, she wanted to believe that Chase was absolutely nasty and ruthless. She was tired of acting like he was a bigger deal than he was to save his stupid face from looking ridiculous because he had no leverage over a woman he'd taken in as his personal "side-kick".

But she stared at him and remembered the urge again. _I could kill him right now. The felines aren't much of a threat. I could do it. Just to prove a point. _In the end, she sighed in resignation. It was too late to be plotting her oppressor's demise. She settled into his arms again, pressing her lips against his rising and falling chest and closing her eyes as she felt his grip close around her. _I could... But then I wouldn't have his pleasant body heat anymore._


	6. Because I'm Broken (Ambiguous)

**A/N:** So I just realized that there is a lack of heavier stuff on my profile. Let's play a game of Guess the Couple! :D (Gray, you're not allowed to guess because I KNOW you'll get it. D:)

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**Because I'm Broken  
**

It wasn't until he'd seen her mouth set in a line that he realized just exactly what he'd said.

_You are mine and no one else's!_

It wasn't until he's watched her straighten and turn her cheek that he knew he'd crossed a line.

_I suppose._

That was it. That was all she was saying right now. No usual banter. No retort. No come back. He reached out, but she was out of his range. The damage had already been done and she was finished listening to him. He almost wanted to rip his tongue out and feed it to the cats, but it'd do them no good. A stone set in his stomach as she looked at him and asked:

_Are we done here?_

She was asking. She never asked.

_... Yes._

She was listening. She actually waited until he dismissed her to leave, yet it only made him feel worse. He stared after her, not sure what was wrong with him. Everything seemed to be off about him. It was like he knew how to be neither a lover nor a villain... Or maybe he was so much of both at all the worst of times. That side he never wanted to show her only ever seemed to be outside of his control as it possesses his mind, making him blind to the monster he could be. It was only worse when he'd come in control of himself again. He was too much of the other to ignore how he could hurt her. His other self, one that he was so unused to seeing, lamented every shadow-cast look she gave. It chided him a billion times over, beating pain he thought he couldn't feel into his charred heart and dropping stones of grief and humanity he thought he'd long shed.

Neither side knew how to coexist, nor did he know how to separate them properly. When he wanted to be one, the other would rear its head and he wasn't the one paying the price.

_He wasn't the one paying the price._

_He's never been the one paying the price._

But he'll also never be strong enough to shoulder his debt.


End file.
